


Curiosity

by stillmadaboutpetra



Series: A tale of tails [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Creampie, Fanart, Filthy, Illustrations, Large Cock, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW Art, Nasty, Object Insertion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tail Sex, Voyeurism, Wet & Messy, belly bulge, dragon!simon, except its a tail, just incase idunno what does tail count as, sexy itallics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillmadaboutpetra/pseuds/stillmadaboutpetra
Summary: Simon gets ahead of Baz in the bedroom with his tail. Baz encourages it. It's quite the show.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: A tale of tails [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177358
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seelieunseelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seelieunseelie/gifts), [theflyingpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingpeach/gifts).



> this is completely indulgent deep guts tail fucking. there is one second of simon pissing during this but im not tagging for watersports cuz its really not that (just for verisimilitude cuz sometimes after deep/big insertions u piss) (im being #authentic).
> 
> Anyway, i drew the fanart first and decided i needed fic to go with it <3

Whatever masterminded plans Baz had for Simon flew out of his mind when he stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The bottle of lube lay uncapped on the bed and Simon was bent over, spread, balancing his weight on his fingertips and rocking on the balls of his feet as he worked his tail into his asshole.

The tail. It comes out to play often these days. It’s the third party in this relationship. Simon even had his wings out tonight too, an entire ensemble of dragon bits, the lamps bouncing off the leather until the room glowed a soft blood red in reflected light. It would be lovely in and of itself, but the huffing open-mouthed breaths coming from his boyfriend, the writhing wiggling tail trying to disappear itself into his soft tender body-

“Simon.”

Simon startles, wobbles, looks up, hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar except it was a tail in the not so proverbial ass.

“I got tired of waiting,” he says defensively, tail stiffening inside him. He can’t seem to stop his own curious plundering as it shivers and roots a little deeper and his eyes cross slightly, a short stoppered moan popping free from his lip. He ducks his head, chagrinned. “Got impatient.”

“I can see that. Don’t move.”

“Baz-”

“Don’t.” He crosses quickly to Simon while his legs still work, blood pounding between his thighs. The sight of him; blood pounds behind his eyes, so intense is the image. So furiously filthily delicious. Baz scoops up the lube, out of body with himself, stunned by how his hands remember to work. “What made you try this?”

Simon’s whole body twitches as Baz circles around him, getting a full view of Simon’s split apart cheeks, the tight inward push of his hole around the red leathery skin of the tail. It is the most grotesque imitation of cock Baz has ever seen, the skin too rough and abrasive, the color too deep. The length, the thickness - Simon had only just begun, the narrow spaded tip curled and sunk inside him, the tapering done and the width truly begun.

“C-curiosity.” Simon shrinks a little at the shoulders but lifts his ass for inspection, twisting his neck around, trying to swivel and watch Baz’s reaction. A soft hand on his hip, grounding him. He sighs gustily.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s - big.” He laughs self-consciously and the motion, the response, surges in his tail. Sometimes it has such a mind of its own. Baz has to wonder if it _likes_ this, if it _feels_ separately from Simon, coming from an imaginary monster shadow that lurks at the edge of Simon’s mind.

“Does your ass feel good around your tail?” He strokes a single fingertip up the curve of the thing, looping inward and following it to where it manifests from Simon’s tailbone, the leathery scales merging with flesh, the color fading out. He grips the base and jerks it like a cock.

Simon arches his back and the tail throbs.

“Ha- _hnngh_ , yes.”

It does feel good. Why haven’t they done this before? He’ll have to let Simon do this to him. But first: “Simon.”

“Yeah?”

Baz squirts lube into his hands and spreads it around, warming it slightly. “Let me make you wetter.” The skin’s too rough, it’ll pull and burn and it’s simply too early for that. Later, when Simon’s all sloppy, when he’s tender, then Baz can watch him start to ache on friction.

“Fuck. Fuck. Okay, hold on.”

He buckles slightly, feet spreading across the floor. Slowly, like a magician’s trick in reverse, the tail slithers out from his ass, the leather heart of the head fanning out as it departs. His hole, already puffy and red, not nearly slick enough, pinches shut as if nothing had ever happened. Simon had been taking his time. Going slowly. Curious.

You know what they say about curiosity.

Baz takes the spade of the tip in his hand, hissing with pleased surprised at how hot it is, warm from Simon’s insides. It feels like it’s been laid out in the sun. Simon hums as Baz works lube generously up the tail, squeezing and groping, jerking it teasingly, smoothing the skin a little. There’s no looseness to it, not like a cock; it’s not silk over steel. It’s muscle and bone, the small knuckles of what would be a spine tangible in the grip of his hand.

“You’ve made me curious too,” Baz murmurs, pressing his erect cock against Simon’s hip so he understands the meaning.

“It’s your fault,” Simon huffs, grumbling even as he thrusts blindly into the air, his hard cock swinging down between his legs. “Fuck, baby.”

“I’ll gladly accept the blame for this.” To show his reverence to the situation, to commend Simon on his brilliant mind, Baz kneels behind him, taking a cheek in each hand and spreading him. Simon whimpers as Baz kisses his hole, soothing the earlier stretch, licking into the delicate wrinkled beginnings of what will surely be a ruined little thing by the end of this game.

As Baz licks and sucks at Simon’s hole, he feels a bump at his cheek, a forceful little push until the tip of Simon’s tail joins his tongue at his hole, nudging in beside him, with him. Baz groans loudly and Simon echoes it as he intrudes upon himself. Tongue out, Baz lathes the tail as it fucks carefully back into Simon’s ass, a slick mess of lube and spit drooling out as the tight rim kisses around the shape, opening up and sucking hungrily - Simon rocks his hips back with a grunt, a gasp, little _uhn, uhn, uhns._

Stupefied, Baz sits back on his heels, holding Simon apart, forcing this wild display. The tail, muscle, bone, thick lube-shining skin like the underbelly of a crocodile, faint puckering of scales - all of it slithers into Simon until his rim goes white and the dent of the intrusion shows in a frantic tremble up the skin of his crack. He’s as far as he’d been earlier, past the head, past the initial narrowness. Now his tail’s fatter than Baz’s cock and there’s _miles_ of it.

“Shh, shh,” Baz soothes, delirious, so turned on he can’t see straight. He kneels forward and licks again, spitting at Simon’s rim, watching it drip around the sucking bulge of his hole as he works the tail out a little and then fucks back in, sinking, plunging -

“Circe’s cunt, Simon,” he swears, as low and nasty as he’s ever been. He ducks his head down between Simon’s legs and twists up to suck on his bollocks like a god nursing from a fount, pulling one then the other into his mouth and feeling the firm plump shape of them. Simon moans loudly and from the upside down, Baz watches more of the tail snake into Simon’s ass.

Baz pulls Simon’s cock into his mouth and sucks him distractedly, trying to watch as Simon fucks himself open, feeding more and more of the tail into his body. It should be impossible but it’s happening all the same, inch after fattening inch of the thick tail working Simon open, spreading him thin and fucking deeper; Simon’s whole body flexes with it, sweat broken out on his skin, wings shivering and occassionally flapping and stiffening as pleasure or pain spikes through him. It seems like the tail holds him at one axis point and Baz’s mouth on his cock the other, swinging Simon between the motions of give and take and yet it’s all the same, give and take, an ouroboros of himself, of cock and hole and the tail, winding up between them.

Baz loses track of the tail, his angle obscured, dedicated to the steady taste of precum in his mouth but he can’t miss it when Simon arches, almost falling atop him; his belly goes taut, his hipbones cut out, and impressed upon his skin from the inside out is the thick coil of the tail in his belly.

Baz pulls off Simon’s cock with a loud moan, dropping on the floor beneath him, staring wide-eyed as the tail moves, winding within Simon’s guts, a bulging mass weighing down inside his organs, throbbing and fucking so deep Simon has to be gagging, has to be dying. But he’s not. He’s moaning, long constant ruined noises, choking, breathless, gasp after gasp as he pulls his tail out of his own body and forces it back in, twisting it, remaking his insides around the plunging depth of how well fucked he is.

Baz looks at Simon’s open mouth, thinking wildly that at any moment that tip will thrust out of his throat, that he'll have gone all the way through until he's nothing but a fucked-hollow toy of his own design.

Carefully squirming out from beneath Simon, Baz squeezes his own balls before he blows, shifting away from the scene so he can watch with full voyeuristic pleasure as Simon destroys himself.

Lube squashes out with the increasing pace, his pleasured noises descending into low animal grunts with each deep plunge of a thrust. He can’t seem to spread himself wide enough; he curls up like he’s going to force his tail out before arching and sucking it back in, sinking it in deeper. It’s like watching a marionette doll strangle itself on its own dancing strings, the way Simon fucks himself, biting his lip and groaning, urgent, pushing his hips back, his tail stiffening and curving in swoops of motion.

At last, when every muscle of Simon’s is shaking and his breathing has gone completely ragged, incoherent mutterings of _fuck_ and _please_ and _oh god oh god_ and _Baz_ have taken over, his face, rapturous and broken - cheeks wet, mouth a red open crack of lips and tongue and barred teeth - the tail curves in one last time, a final push before, to Baz’s own sympathetic horror, it jerks out of Simon, threatening to tug his guts inside-out, wringing a shrill cry and an expectant orgasm out of the dragonling. Simon arches back onto his knees, coming spectacularly on the floor, huge showy jets that land audibly. Then he pisses a little, a bursting stream as the pressure inside him releases, as his body fills back into the space that had been stolen, all the hot bruise of him. He collapses back to his hands, panting rapidly, tongue lolled out of his mouth, eyes bleary and half shut and face turned towards Baz.

He's a mess, drooling, dripping, more naked than he's ever been.

“Fuck,” Baz whispers.

Simon doesn’t even mock him for it, hanging his head, wings drooping down on either side of him as if to hide away. Behind him the tail curls in the air like a sleepy thing, quelled, lube glopping in sticky strings from it.

“Fuck,” Simon finally gasps with a sniffle, collapsing forward onto his elbows and then some, over the puddle of his come and piss, burying his face into his folded arms. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Fuck. “Are you okay?” Followed by, “I love you, you beautiful nightmare.”

“Oh god, fuck,” Simon shakes his head and perks up his ass, wagging his hips side to side like a drunken metronome. “Fuck me. Baz. Baz.”

He can't be hearing this right. “Are you-”

“I need something in me- get in me.” He sounds desperate, the words chewed up and spat, throat making them groggy and sopping.

Baz scrambles to obey, almost tripping, all his vampiric grace gone, robbed, out the door. The tail flicks up and Baz grips the base, holding it out of the way - it spasms, sensitive, and Simon whines - and “Alesteir fucking Crowley, Simon.”

As expected, Simon’s hole is a slack open thing, a red hot peekaboo of his insides, a soft little mouth begging for it. Lube’s churned up and creamy around the rim, and Baz sinks two fingers inside to no resistance, pushing until the webbing of his knuckles kisses into that waiting mouth of a hole.

 _“Pleasepleaseplease,_ ” Simon mumbles, “I feel - fuck me. Fuck me. _Fill me_.”

He reaches up between his own legs to find Baz’s fingers, to hook his own into his stretched ass and pull open his rim a little more; he might as well have hooked his fingers into Baz’s guts and yanked, so potent and sharp is the claw of arousal that goes through him. He’s hopeless and helpless and already coming before he gets inside, shuddering as his cockhead slips inside the scorching hot flesh of Simon’s body, his come a poured out thing into that open passage, all puffy and sweet from being fucked raw by a devil’s whip of a tail. Baz knows now how deep it goes and thinks about fucking his come all the way up into the back of Simon’s throat until he can kiss it back out of his mouth.

He has no right to feel as worn out as he does after he comes, but he collapses with Simon into a swaddle of wings as they teeter backwards away from the worst of the mess, yanking the comforter from the bed off onto the floor with them. Between them, Simon leaks out Baz’s come, a steady puddle that slicks both of their thighs, that dribbles and bubbles and _spills_ ; Simon’s all set astremble, a shivery creature in Baz’s arms. Baz kisses those tear-sticky cheeks of his and hushes Simon with nonsense words and praise, struck dumb and marvelled by the fantastic undoing that just happened. There's really no words.

It’s a relief when Simon falls asleep, giving Baz a moment to orient himself, to make amends. He spells the mess away and rushes to find substance; water, biscuits, a stacked high sandwich of leftover shortrib with, fuck it, mashed potatoes. A mashed potato sandwich. Simon’s going to love it. He’s going to think it’s the best thing since sliced bread.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Baz will invent every possible combination of sandwich there is if it makes Simon happy. Especially after that. That was - that was beyond the scope of reality.

Magic. What is it good for? Fucking your guts out.

Simon looks at the sandwich and asks for gravy. Baz gets gravy.


End file.
